A Paris Christmas Story
by Lila75
Summary: This is something I wrote years ago, and I thought it'd be good to share it here. It's inspired by "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, instead of Scrooge it's about Javert - enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_A Paris Christmas Story_

Christmas Eve of 1831 was a particularly cold day in Paris. It had snowed overnight. Even though the sun was hidden behind grey clouds, the snow made Paris look bright and friendly. Streets and shops were decorated festively, and the streets were bustling with activity. Everyone was busy making preparations for Christmas and the big dinner in the evening.

People everywhere were walking at a quick pace, but unlike any other day, they seemed more relaxed and cheerful than usual.

There was one man though who remained entirely untouched by the special day and the joyful atmosphere around him. His name was Javert, and he was a police inspector. He had a reputation of being stern and implacable, and to live for the law, and the law alone. Even his outside appearance reflected his character. His uniform was tidy and in order from the thoroughly tied back ponytail to his polished boots, he was tall and formidable-looking. He was in his early fifties, his hair and sideburns had turned grey. He might have been a pleasant-looking man, but his face was in a constant frown, his eyes had turned cold, and could pierce right through a suspected criminal or any poor soul that incurred his displeasure. Those who could preferred to keep well clear of him. His colleagues respected him as a capable inspector, but he had no friends among them. They accepted the fact that he lived for his work and had no interest in socialising.

Javert did not think of Christmas as a special day. Since he had no friends or family, he did not have to bother about buying gifts for anybody. Christmas had of course a certain religious implication for him. He went to church because he regarded this as his duty as a good Catholic, but that was it.

Javert had finished his beat and was on his way back to the police station. That day, he felt pleased with himself, having prevented a robbery and arrested two beggars who had pestered people in front of Notre Dame cathedral, where begging was strictly forbidden. Their excuse had infuriated him - they had claimed since it was Christmas, they had a right to be in front of the church. What a cheek! Everybody had their place, there were rules that had to be obeyed, and Christmas changed nothing about that. The law had to be obeyed on that day like on any other.

.

Still deep in thoughts he opened the door of the police station. The next thing he heard was a desperate "Don´t open the door" and a loud bang - and then he suddenly found he had some gold ribbon around his neck and some branches of pine on his head. On the floor, next to a chair that had fallen over sat Duvillard, a young constable, who only had joined the police force half a year ago. His eyes and mouth were opened widely, and he had a stupefied expression on his face.

Javert removed the ribbon and the branches from his head and shoulders slowly and carefully.

"What do you think you are doing there?"

"I just...um...wanted to make the place look a bit more friendly, after all it´s Christmas."

"I presume you have already finished the reports then?"

Underneath his calm controlled voice, irritation began to show.

"No, sir..."

"Then I suggest that you finish your work first before you worry about the police station´s interior design."

Javert gave Duvillard a cold look and handed him the ribbon, thoroughly wrapped up.

Duvillard quickly went back to work. When Javert spoke in this sarcastic tone, it was better not to get into his way. He sighed. Sure, there were worse superiors than Javert, at least he was always fair, but this obsession with his work was extremely tiring.

The rest of the evening both of them sat working on their reports without talking at all.

When their shift ended, Duvillard closed his reports with a sigh of relief at the clock´s chime - his parents and brothers and sisters waiting for him, and he wanted to join them as quickly as possible.

"I have never seen you to coming into work in such a hurry as you are leaving."

Javert's was of course inevitable.

"Please understand - after all it´s Christmas!"

"I wonder why everyone uses Christmas as an excuse for breaking the rules or neglecting ones duties...."

Duvillard remained quiet because he did not want to annoy him. He dashed out of the police station wishing Javert, who was still engrossed in his reports, a very merry Christmas. He hardly looked up from his work and mumbled something incomprehensible in return.

Javert was left alone with his reports and files. In the dim light of just one lamp, he worked on them for another hour until everything was completed to his satisfaction. He was pleased to see that he was still in time for Midnight Mass.

On his way home from Mass, he was unaware of the festive and solemn atmosphere around him. What the priest had said about love, mercy and compassion did not mean anything to him. The only true, reliable thing was the law, right and wrong, good and bad. Before he went to bed, he looked out of the window, and watched the peaceful scene with the snow that was still falling for a moment.

"I shall be glad when Christmas is over and life is back to normal. People go strange at this time of the year." The minute he said it he felt a slight unease. It seemed like a sacrilege to say such a thing.

With a sigh he went to bed. He fell into a deep dreamless sleep almost at once. After some time though, he woke up from the sound of the clock downstairs striking twelve. At first, he paid no attention to it, but then he realised how unusual that was. He had come home well after midnight, so how could the clock possibly strike twelve? He even remembered having looked at the time before he went to bed, and it had been half past one. What a peculiar thing that was! All sleepiness was gone, and he wanted to find out what on earth was going on.

With one hand, he searched for the candle on his bedside table, but he could not find it. The room was pitch black dark, and he could not make out the slightest shape. Feeling very annoyed he sat up and searched for his slippers on the floor, but he did not manage to find them either. All he felt was the cold floor.

Suddenly he noticed that the room was not dark any more. At a short distance there was a fluorescent source of light. Javert stared at it, trying in vain to make out what it was. Slowly the light took a kind of shape. It became clearer and clearer, until he could make out a figure. It had the height of a child, and somehow childlike features, but it looked awe-inspiring and somehow mature.

He had to be dreaming - things like these just didn´t happen! Still he felt how his hair standing to the end and he started to shiver. He was sat upright in his bed, not daring to move a muscle.

After what seemed like ages he got a grip on himself. He could not have some light floating around in his room like that, he had to do something about it!

"Who are you and what do you want?"

He was angry at himself that his voice sounded rather like someone who was scared to death than the one of a fearless police inspector.

The creature smiled at him.

"Don´t be afraid - I am a ghost!"

"I am not afraid. There are no ghosts, therefore you don´t exist. I am just having a nightmare, it´s as simple as that."

"Are you sure?"

"You are just a dream."

Again the ghost smiled.

"It would be a good, simple explanation, wouldn´t it? I am sorry that I have to shatter it."

With no further warning the ghost went up to Javert, who was still frozen to his bed and pinched him in the arm.

"Ouch" he went involuntarily.

"You felt that, didn´t you? Since you are a clever man you certainly know that humans don´t feel pain when they are dreaming. So you must be wide awake."

Javert desperately tried to control a feeling of panic.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to come with me. There are a few things you have to see."

Javert wanted to protest, saying that he was wearing his night clothes and therefore was not suitably dressed to go anywhere, especially not at this time of the night. But somehow he did not dare to say anything and just followed the ghost.


	2. Chapter 2

They left Javert´s house, but to his surprise when they got outside, it was bright daylight, and they were somewhere that looked vaguely familiar to him. They found themselves on a meadow which was thinly covered with snow, and big flakes were still falling. At a distance, he could see two little boys playing in the snow. One of them had fair hair, the other one was dark, and wore clothes that looked as if they were too big for him. Javert could hear their loud, excited voices.

Even though it was apparently cold, he did not feel the chill, even though he was in his night dress. Also, the boys took no notice of them, which was peculiar. A man in a night dress would have attracted any boys´ attention!

„What you see here are the shadows of things that have been," said the spirit before Javert could even ask how this was possible. „They can`t see you."

There was something familiar about this place. The way the path besides the meadow wound its way up the hill, the houses in the distance... Suddenly he recognised it. They were in Toulon! Here he had grown up and later spent some time of his working years. He had a closer look at the two boys, and with a jolt recognised that the dark-haired one was himself!

More and more memories of these long-gone days returned, and he was amazed how clear they were once he let accepted them.

Snow was rare in Toulon, and they had been so excited about it! Julien Gaspard was the only friend he ever had when he was a child. Javert had not thought about his childhood for longer than he cared to remember. Even though he thought to have left it long behind him, the shame of being the son of a gipsy woman and a convict, and having grown up in a prison was something he never quite outgrown. He had kept it a secret from everybody.

Javert watched the two boys throwing snowballs at each other, laughing and screaming.

The spirit made him follow the two boys back home, or rather to Julien´s home. It moved Javert strangely to get back to the house where he had spent the only happy moments of his childhood.

Julien´s father had been a guard at the Toulon prison, where Javert´s mother had been imprisoned. When he thought of it now Javert did not understand why he had let his son play with him, the filthy gypsy brat. He used to be pushed around and beaten by the guards and by the other children. But the Gaspard family had never treated him differently from any other children in the neighbourhood.

Javert watched how the boys drank some hot chocolate, and how they finally got to open their Christmas gifts. The atmosphere was friendly and warm, and he knew he had wished that he would never have to leave it again, but after a little while it was time for the little boy to go back to the prison, and to his mother.

"We´d love to have you here overnight, but you can´t leave your mother all alone at Christmas." The little boy nodded sadly, accepting that Gaspard was right.

They followed the two of them to the Toulon prison, a huge fortress which looked dark and intimidating. Gaspard brought the little boy to the small room inside the prison where he lived with his mother.

She looked at both of them with contempt.

"There you are! My own son rather spends Christmas with these guard rats than with his own mother..."

Her voice was cold and bitter. Years of prison had made her features hard, and she was full of frustration about her ruined life and full of hate for everybody who worked at the prison.

The boy shrugged his shoulders, looking to the floor.

"You are still my son, aren´t you, Troyáno?"

The boy looked downwards. How he hated his first name! It was like his mother had wanted to brand him forever to stick out as a gipsy.

Javert remembered like it was yesterday what he had thought then - "I wish I wasn´t....".

Everything blurred around them, and Javert and the spirit found themselves in the same room, one year later. There was Troyáno, his mother, and a guard.

"You won´t be allowed to leave the room until further notice. You know that there was a riot among the convicts, and they killed several of our men."

His eye fell on the boy.

"I always said that Gaspard was too soft with you lot. His softness made him lose his life."

M. Gaspard was killed?! Troyáno cried out in despair. "That isn´t true, you are lying!!"

The guard shook the boy off impatiently.

"Yes, he is dead. And it was your people who killed him, never forget that, you little gypsy scum."

He turned round and slammed the door. Troyáno stared at the door motionlessly, tears running from his eyes.

"Serves him right too. These bloody guards. Serves them right, all of them."

His mother´s voice cut like a knife in the boy´s heart.

"Don´t say that!!!"

"I will say it again and again! Only a dead guard is a good guard."

The boy ran up to her in a wild fury.

"Don´t say that again! I hate you! I would rather die than become like you!"

His little fists were hitting his mother, who just laughed at him.

"Just look at you! You have got gypsy and convict blood in your veins! Do you really think that you can escape your destiny? Troyáno, you´re a just a little fool!"

Suddenly a change came over the boy. He stopped hitting his mother. His hands were still clenched to fists, but he stood perfectly still, and his eyes were getting cold.

"I am not like you. I´ll show you. You´ll all see."

The last thing Javert saw before the scene faded away from his eyes was how his mother's laugh slowly faded away, giving way to an expression of fear. He did not want to remember, but inevitably his mind wandered back to that time. Julien and his mother had moved away from Toulon, and he had never seen them again. With them being gone, he had lost his only refuge from the cruelties of everyday life. Nobody thought that a gypsy brat could be any good. He soon noticed that he had to be quicker and better than everybody else. He was made fun of and beaten up regularly. None of the teachers at school ever prevented this. The headmaster was particularly bad, his name was Rocher, he had a deep hatred for all that came from inside a prison, and he had made him suffer tremendously. He had tried anything to make the gypsy scum, as he put it, run away from school or find a reason to have him expelled, but he did not succeed.

The spirit touching his arm jolted him out of his reverie. They were in a dark wood, and it was snowing. Javert saw a little girl apparently lost in the woods. She looked scared to death, and was carrying a bucket that was far too huge and heavy for her. He could not make out who she was, and what she was supposed to have to do with him. A man came down the path. He softly addressed the child, and talked to her gently. He wrapped his scarf around her, and carried the bucket for her. The man looked strangely familiar to Javert. All of a sudden he remembered. It was Jean Valjean - the convict who had been in jail for violent robbery. This Valjean had had broken his parole when Javert was a young officer in Toulon, and he had been chasing him for years and years, until his trace had entirely disappeared some nine years ago... This man was a dangerous violent brute, just like he the imagined the convict who killed Gaspard when trying to escape from prison to be.

The spirit showed him an entirely different scene. The little girl was there again, and so was Jean Valjean, but how different she looked! The ragged clothes had gone, she was wearing a pretty dress now, her hair was nicely done, and she looked healthy and happy. Javert froze when he looked at her - she had the same joy and adoration in her face when she looked at Valjean like little Troyáno had when he was at the Gaspards´ home. It was Jean Valjean who had caused this change! His face was lit with friendliness and warmth.

Javert would have liked to watch the scene for longer, without even noticing that this was the man he had been chasing for so long. But the ghost took him by the arm and led him away, all the while getting losing substance and getting more and more translucent.

"I must leave you now - but you will be visited by another spirit tomorrow."

"No, don´t go! There are so many questions I have to ask!! Please, stay!"

But Javert´s pleading was in vain. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, until the spirit had entirely disappeared. Javert found himself back in his bed. Still feeling dazed, but also very tired, he fell asleep at once.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of his clock chiming twelve again woke Javert up. He felt disoriented, for a moment not quite sure where he was, the recent events a blur in his mind. He desperately tried to convince himself that what he had seen was just a dream. There were no ghosts! But then, why was it twelve o'clock again? He couldn´t possibly have slept 24 hours!

Before he could think about this any further, a source of light similar to the one he had seen the night before attracted his attention. Was he dreaming again!? Almost not daring to breathe, he watched how the light slowly changed into something that looked like a human being. This new ghost was a lot bigger than the previous one, it had the size of a grown man. Its features were hidden mostly by what looked like a long beard.

Javert somehow managed to find his voice again.

"Who are you?"

"I am exactly what you think I am. Don´t be afraid, just come with me."

Javert obeyed, intimidated by the ghost.

They went out into the streets of Paris - again it was bright day all of a sudden, but this time Javert was not really surprised. It was obviously another Christmas. He followed the ghost through the streets, passing by all the happy and excited-looking people. Like the night before, time seemed to have lost its relevance, and after what could have been minutes or hours they reached the slums. Javert knew them well, he had often been on duty there. In this dreary place Christmas seemed to be a million miles away. People here were living on the street, men, women, children, babies even, and they had given up any hope for a better life. Then Javert spotted an elderly man and a young girl next to him. They were distributing food and blankets to the poor, and the gifts were gratefully received. Something about the man rang a bell with Javert.

"Who is this man, spirit? I have the strange feeling that I´ve seen him somewhere before."

"You´ll find out soon."

They followed the old man and the young girl home for their celebration of Christmas. There was just the two of them. Even though they both seemed quite happy, there was a feeling of loneliness in the secluded way they were living. The man was certainly full of love for his daughter, but he was bothered by something. When he turned round Javert saw his face for the first time that evening, and he recognised Jean Valjean.

Instinctively he made a few steps towards him, but then he remembered that he was transparent for them and couldn't just go and grab Valjean, much as he wanted to.

The spirit made him leave the room, and they witnessed other Christmas celebrations of people Javert knew. Duvillard was one of them. He was having dinner with big family. There were people of all ages at the table, and everybody was chattering and laughing. A few small children were running round the table, trying to catch each other. Suddenly Javert heard his name mentioned by Duvillard.

"I really don´t understand Inspector Javert. He doesn´t seem to care about Christmas at all! I wanted to put up some Christmas decoration in the police station, and all he said is that I should finish my reports. And what is even more peculiar - he is probably still working there - can you believe it, at Christmas!"

There was incredulous murmuring all around the table.

Only his mother was a bit more sympathetic.

"The poor man probably hasn´t got anybody to celebrate Christmas with. Maybe you should have invited him to join us."

Duvillard pulled a face.

"You´re really too kind, maman. He is not as bad as that, but I´d rather not have him around in my free time. It's enough for me being serious and dutiful during the week."

Javert was annoyed at that disrespectful comment, but with unease had to admit that there was some truth about what he had heard. It had never occurred to him before that his distaste for all these festivities and his feeling alien to it all was not something natural, but his own choice, and for the first time it dawned on him that it might not have been a good one. When he thought about it he had turned out very much like his teacher Rocher, who he had loathed so much, and not at all like Gaspard, who once had been his idol.

When the spirit bade him to leave he almost didn´t notice, he was so deep in thought. Again, he found himself lying in his bed suddenly. In vain he tried to stay awake and fell into a deep sleep at once.


End file.
